The Songs of Quinn Fabray
by wanderingninjas
Summary: A collection of song fics centered on one Miss Quinn Fabray.
1. Perfect

**Title: **The Songs of Quinn Fabray

**Author: **GleeLover77

**Characters: **Quinn. Not every fic will be told from her POV, but they'll all center on her.

**Length: **Collection of song fics

**Rating: **Overall, T or PG-13

**Summary: **As stated above, this is a collection of song fics centering on Quinn Fabray.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee or any of its characters. I also do not own any of the songs.

**Author's Note: **None of the fics are related unless I say so.

* * *

**Song: **"Perfect" by Alanis Morissette

**Characters: **Told by Quinn, about her parents

**Genre:** Family/Hurt

**Spoilers: **Foreshadows Preggers

**Rating: **K+ or PG

**Summary: **In the Fabray household, you're only loved if you're perfect.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Quinn, or "Perfect."

**A/N: **Some words slightly modified to fit situation. Nothing drastic.

* * *

_Sometimes is never quite enough.  
If you're flawless, then you'll win our love.  
Don't forget to win first place.  
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face._

I can't afford to not be perfect, not even for a second. Sometimes perfect isn't enough for Russell and Judy Fabray. If I'm flawless, then their love is won for the time being; if I'm not, I'm nothing to them.

Flawless, as defined by my dad: 4.0 GPA, Head Cheerio, president of Celibacy Club, quarterback boyfriend, swarms of friends, always winning first place.

Flawed: Anything less.

There is, of course, one last element crucial to perfection. I cannot forget to smile constantly, for no good reason. But they don't need to know I don't smile anymore when I'm not with them. They won't be smiling at me much longer, either.

_Be a good girl.  
Try a little harder.  
You've got to measure up  
And make us prouder._

I must be the consummate good girl. I must say no to everything that is not good and Christian. As far as they know, this rule I have never broken. If only that were really true.

I have to try harder at everything, even if the effort I'm already giving is enough. "Relax" is a word that isn't even in the Fabray family vocabulary.

My parents have standards I must measure up to. I must walk the path of my sister, who never wavered from perfect. At least, that's what they think. They don't know what I know.

Even when people say how proud my parents must be of me, I have to keep working to make them even prouder. No amount of pride they can have is enough.

But I might as well stop trying now. In a little while, they won't have any pride in me. And nothing will change that.

_How long before I screw it up?  
How many times do they have to tell me to hurry up?  
With everything I do for them,  
The least they can do is keep quiet._

I used to lie awake at night, wondering how long it would be before I screwed up my act of perfection permanently. (Yes, it is an act. I'm not stupid enough to think it isn't). I would always guess it would be ten, fifteen, twenty years before something happened. I never imagined that time would come within months.

Now I wonder how many times they will have to tell me to hurry up before they catch on. That my life is over, before it's really even started. They probably won't notice until it's undeniable.

I also wonder if everything I have given for them will be enough to let them overlook this one mistake. Maybe they will keep quiet, and love me all the same. Maybe.

They won't.

_Be a good girl.  
You've gotta try a little harder.  
That simply wasn't good enough  
To make us proud._

"Be a good girl." I hear these words everyday before I go to school, and now I'm so fucking tired of them. Before it was just irritating. _Of course_ I would be a good girl. Until I wasn't.

"You've gotta try a little harder." I would hear this when I got a B, or when I felt too tired to go to Cheerios practice, or when I came in second at anything.

"That simply wasn't good enough." This almost always follows the sentiment that I need to try harder.

Of course, the "To make us proud" is always implied.

_I'll live through you.  
I'll make you what I never was.  
If you're the best, then maybe so am I.  
Compared to him, compared to her…  
I'm doing this for your own damn good.  
You'll make up for what they blew.  
What's the problem...why are you crying?_

It's taking me years to realize that my parents are living through me. I have become so good at lying that I can also recognize one with the ease I used to be able to do a back handspring with. Their own teenage lives were miserable. So they made my sister what they never were, and they are determined to do the same with me.

If we are the best, then so are they.

When compared to him, when compared to her, the Fabrays blow them out of the water. Doesn't matter who it is. But only for a little while longer.

I know they say they're doing this for my own good. But words don't mean anything. I'm making up for what they blew.

I think they know that I know that they are using me now. If that's true, they won't ever tell me that, though.

I also think they know something is up with me.

Just the other day, my mother asked me, "What's the problem?" after giving me the latest instructions on how to be better. I suppose she noticed the spaced out look on my face.

My father found me crying later that night. He asked, "Why are you crying?" In that moment, I almost told him.

Before I could say anything, he said, "Fabrays don't cry."

Right. So I stopped.

_Be a good girl.  
Push a little farther now.  
That wasn't fast enough  
To make us happy  
_

"Be a good girl." I hear that every time I leave the house now.

"Push a little farther now." This is what my father tells me every time I complete something.

"That wasn't fast enough." He tells me this when I push that little bit farther. In my head, I complete his thought. _To make us happy._

_We love you just the way you are.  
If you're perfect._

When I finally sit them down to tell them, my mom tells me "We love you just the way you are."

Sure.

My father doesn't say anything, but in his eyes I see what was left unsaid.

"_If you're perfect."_

I'm not.

They aren't either.

But will that matter?

No.

That's why I have already packed my bags.

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	2. Ridin' Solo

**Song: **"Ridin' Solo" by Jason Derülo

**Characters: **Quinn, singing about Puck

**Spoilers: **Mentions plotlines from Preggers

**Genre: **Comfort/Humor

**Rating: **T or PG-13 for language

**Summary: **Quinn has dumped Puck and she's ridin' solo tonight!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Quinn, Puck, or "Ridin' Solo"

* * *

I can't help it. This is my first night out since dumping Puck. I've been trying to avoid gloating in my victory, but I can't any longer. I check my watch. It's 6:15, fifteen minutes before Santana is set to pick me up. I'm already ready.

I bite my lip, and glance at my iPod dock. I get up and pick out the song.

When the electronic beeps float into the room, I finally allow myself to smile. I am free!

So I begin to sing.

_I'm feeling like a star, you can't stop my shine.  
I'm lovin' cloud nine, my head's in the sky.  
I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin solo, solo…_

After a year and a half of repression, I'm finally allowed to feel like myself. Finn used to tell me I was a star, shining brightly all the time. Dating Puck after Beth was born put that shine out. Finn actually told me that, one day after glee. And he hardly ever talks to me.

But there's no one to stop my shine now. I feel like I'm riding cloud nine all the time, I'm so blissfully happy. My head has been in the sky.

Cause I'm solo now. And I'm gonna ride it all the way back to the top.

_Yeah, I'm feelin' good tonight.  
Finally doing me and it feels so right, oh!  
Time to do the things I like.  
Going to the club everything's alright, oh!_

Words can't really describe how good I'm feeling right now. All those times Mercedes told me I had to dump Puck, I waved her off, believing I'd be miserable. Ha. I'm fucking euphoric. It feels so incredibly awesome to be me, not some manufactured slut. It's time to do the things I want to do, instead of going to parties where everyone's getting drunk or wasted. Or playing Super Mario Brothers. Tonight Britt, San, Mercedes and I are going to a club. A teenage club, not a real one. Though a real one may be on San's agenda for next weekend. I think she's working on getting us fake IDs….

_No one to answer to!  
No one that's gonna argue, no!  
And since I got that hold off me,  
I'm livin' life now that I'm free, yeah!_

I keep checking my phone for messages from Puck, then I remember I don't have him to answer to anymore. There's no one to answer to. I can't tell you how fucking awesome that sounds to me. He's not here to argue with me anymore. It's amazing to think I'm never going to have to fight with him about sex anymore. You'd think that after me giving birth to his child, he'd lay off. But no.

Now that that hold is off of me, I can actually live my life. I'm finally free.

_Told me get my shit together  
Now I got my shit together, yeah!  
Now I made it through the weather.  
Better days are gonna get better._

The last time we argued about sex, he told me to get my shit together if I wanted to be with him. It took that one little remark to realize that _I didn't_ want to be with him, not anymore. I sure got my shit together, alright. I've made it through the weather, and now better days are going to get even better.

_I'm so sorry that it didn't work out.  
I'm movin' on.  
I'm so sorry but it's over now.  
The pain is gone!_

When I dumped Puck, I told him, "I'm so sorry that it didn't work out." Lie.

I also told him, "I'm moving on." Truth.

Then, "I'm so sorry but it's over now." Lie, followed by truth.

Last, as I walked away, "The pain is gone!" The truest thing I've ever said.

_I'm puttin' on my shades to cover up my eyes.  
I'm jumpin' in my ride, I'm headin' out tonight.  
I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo._

I grab the sunglasses Finn bought me when I was pregnant to hide my eyes. I'm not looking for any guy tonight. I can't wait to jump in San's car and head out to an actual _life. _

It's gonna feel awesome to share the awesomeness of riding solo. Like they don't know, but still.

_I'm feelin' like a star, you can't stop my shine.  
I'm lovin' cloud nine, my head's in the sky.  
I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo._

I'm loving feeling like a star again. It's so great to get my shine back on. Cloud nine is so amazing; my head isn't coming out of the sky. Riding solo couldn't get any better.

_Now I'm feelin' how I should.  
Never knew single could feel this good, oh!  
Stop playin' misunderstood.  
Back in the game, who knew I would, oh!_

I'm finally feeling like I should again. Who knew single would feel so great? Finally I understand Santana's unwillingness to take on a commitment.

The only way this could get any better is if Puck could stop playing misunderstood. I just wish I could tell him, "Okay, all you wanted was sex. That's not that hard to understand. Stop being so shallow. Maybe then your claims of being misunderstood would be true."

But anyway I'm back in the game. Who would have guessed? Not me, since I was so addicted to relationships before. I think I'm addicted to riding solo now.

_So flat, Imma spread my wings.  
Loving myself makes me wanna sing!  
Oh, oh yeah!  
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!_

It's so time to spread my wings. Soaring around town on cloud nine almost Lima seem less boring. I'm loving me, I'm loving life, and I'm loving being free. It makes me want to sing. Wait, I already am. Ha.

_Told me get my shit together.  
Now I got my shit together, yeah!  
Now I made it through the weather.  
Better days are gonna get better._

My shit's together now. And now I'm free because of it. Take that, Puckosaurus.

_I'm feelin' like a star, you can't stop my shine.  
I'm lovin' cloud nine, my head's in the sky.  
__I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo._

_Ridin' solo, solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
Solo, solo, solo, solo.  
__  
It's like__ S-O-L-O!  
__S-O-L-O  
S-O-L-O  
I'm living my life, ain't got stress no more!_

_I'm putting on my shades to cover up my eyes.  
I'm jumpin' in my ride, I'm headin' out tonight.  
I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo!  
I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo!_

_I'm feeling like a star, you can't stop my shine.  
I'm lovin' cloud nine, my head's in the sky.  
I'm solo, I'm ridin' solo.  
__I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo!_

_I'm ridin' solo, I'm ridin' solo, solo!  
I'm ridin' solo, solo!  
__I'm ridin' solo, solo!_

Solo. Single. Free. Damn, I love those words. As the song ends, I flop back onto my bed feeling like I'm in a dream. I even laugh when I hear Santana honking her horn outside, irritated that I'm not waiting for her out there ten minutes earlier than what we agreed on.

Life is so fucking awesome right now.

**Reviews would make you **_**awesome.**_** Like I haven't used that word enough in this chapter. Oh well. Hope you enjoyed it.**


	3. Automatic

**Song: **"Automatic" by Tokio Hotel

**Characters: **Quinn singing about Santana

**Spoilers: **Should be none

**Rating: **T or PG-13 for brief sex/rape scenes.

**Genre: **Hurt/Romance

**Summary: **Quinn can't understand why she keeps loving Santana.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Quinn, Santana, or "Automatic."

**Author's Note: **I'm not really sure where this one came from. I was listening to possible fic songs and I thought this song would be great, and then I decided I was using Santana. No idea why. So this is officially my first femslash. And I suppose it's also my first alternate universe, too. Enjoy!

* * *

_Automatic, automatic_

When someone asks me if I'm with someone, my answer is always automatically yes. Almost always, they'll ask who. Again, automatically, without hesitation, I reply, "Santana Lopez."

Yes, I, Quinn Fabray, am dating Santana Lopez. And I'm very much in love with her. I don't really care what you think of me. That's not a problem for me. The problem is that I don't even know why I love her anymore.

Also, I don't think I want to be in love with her. But I am anyway, and it seems that's not going to change.

_You're automatic.  
And your heart's like an engine.  
I die with every beat.  
You're automatic.  
And your voice is electric.  
Why do I still believe?_

The thing is, Santana's automatic too. But in a different way than I am. I am automatic in the sense that I don't hesitate much, or really think about what I say or do. Yes, that sounds like a recipe for disaster, I know, but for me it works. San is automatic like a machine. No, not like a machine. She _is _a machine.

Her heart is an engine, something that is kept dormant and only turned on when needed. Which isn't very often. With every beat of her heart, I die a little inside, because with every beat, I fall more in love with her, when I'm trying to fall out of love.

San's voice is electric. She speaks with no emotion, except for occasional anger. When she sings, I fall to pieces, because her voice is just that beautiful. But somehow, it is still electric. I never knew that electric and beautiful could be applied to the same thing. And that's what Santana is, in all aspects.

Sometimes I think, _Maybe… the words electric and beautiful can't describe the same object._

So why do I still believe in her?

_It's automatic,  
Everywhere in your letter,  
A lie that makes me bleed.  
It's automatic  
When you say things get better.  
But they never._

In every little note or message of any sort Santana sends me, she tells me that she loves me. I used to think it was true. But now I can see that this is inserted automatically, without emotion to back up the claim. This lie makes me bleed, both in the pleasure of seeing the words "I love you" and in the pain of knowing they're not true.

San also knows our relationship is making me miserable. She promises things will get better. She says that the transition from best friends to HBICs to enemies to frenemies with benefits to "lovers" to girlfriends is all that is holding us back. She says it's just still a little awkward. It's bullshit, I know. We've been girlfriends seven months. Awkward, my ass.

But I can't help but believe her when she promises it's going to get better.

It never does.

_There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
Why do I keep loving you?_

Sometimes, I go out alone for a walk late at night. I know that sounds like an invitation to get raped and murdered, but this isn't the Bronx. It's Lima, which hasn't had a murder since 1984.

When I get to the center of town, I scream, "There's no real love in you!" I like to pretend San can hear me.

Once the echoes die away, I whisper, "Why do I keep loving you?"

I don't why I do this. All I know is that it makes me feel a lot better about loving Santana. Even though it should make me feel worse.

That must be why I do it.

_It's automatic,  
Counting cars on a crossroad.  
They come and go like you.  
It's automatic.  
Watching faces I don't know  
Erases the face of you._

Have you counted passing cars when you're stuck in traffic? I have. It's just something I do. Automatic.

Lately, when I find myself doing this, I think of Santana. The cars remind of her. They come and go as they please, not meaning to leave a mark. Yet the impression they leave is huge.

Have you ever just watched people you don't know when you're bored out of your mind in a public place? I have. I didn't used to do it much, but now I do it all the time, even when I'm not bored. I just find myself doing it. Automatic.

I do it because it erases Santana's face from my mind temporarily. Then the pain of loving her is just a little bit lighter.

_It's automatic, systematic.  
So traumatic, you're automatic._

Every Saturday night, Santana and I make love. I find it funny that that is the term she insists on using, even though she has no idea what real love is. It's always the same. It's just automatic. We do it. The way she touches me, the way she does me… it's systematic. Like she's working her way through me. Even after I fell in love with her, I never wanted this. I might be going to hell anyway, but I kind of really wanted to stay a virgin until marriage. So every Saturday night, I try to convince Santana not to do it. But she does.

When she's done, she leaves immediately. Once I'm sure she's gone, I cry, traumatized. I know deep in my heart that these nights are just one more reason I shouldn't be in love with Santana Lopez.

But they're actually one more reason I do love her.

_There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
Why do I keep loving you?_

More than once, I have woken up from daydreaming and doodling and found the words "There's no real love in you. There's no real love in you. There's no real love in you" scribbled onto my paper. My ears go red and I scrub them out. Every time, I will come back to reality again just moments later and find "Why do I keep loving you?" in the other words' place.

_Automatic, automatic.  
Automatic, automatic._

Everything with San is automatic. The things I say and do, and the things she says and does. This might sound like a recipe for a perfect relationship, but it's not.

I'm starting to think it's the opposite.

_Each step you make,  
Each breath you take,  
Your heart, your soul,  
Remote-controlled.  
This life is so sick.  
You're automatic to me._

Every step Santana makes is remote controlled. As is every breath she takes. By what, I don't know. This I could take, this I could live with if it were just the way she moved that was automatic and machine-like.

But her heart and soul are remote-controlled too. And that I can't take.

The life we live is so sick, and it's not because we're both girls.

It's because San is automatic to me.

I really wish I could tell her that.

_(Love in you, love in you)  
There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you._

_There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
There's no real love in you.  
Why do I keep loving you?_

_Automatic.  
(There's no real)  
Automatic.  
(Love in you)_

_Automatic.  
(Why do I)  
Automatic.  
(Keep loving you?)  
Automatic._

I really wish I could tell her this every Saturday night when she pushes me down onto her bed and forces her way into me. I wish I could tell her that I love her anyway, despite all she has done to me. I wish I could then say that I have to leave her, because I can't let her "make love" to me every week and not love me.

But then she would tell me she loves me too.

And then I could never leave her, automatic and all.

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	4. Second Chance

**Song: **"Second Chance" by Shinedown

**Characters: **Quinn/Mike

**Spoilers: **Preggers, possible Journey

**Rating: **K+ or PG for brief extreme language

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort

**Summary: **Quinn accepts the fact that her parents don't want her anymore, nor will they again.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, Quinn, Mike, or "Second Chance"

**Author's Note: **This one is going to be longer than the others, because there is more of a story between the verses.

**A/Nx2: **Sequel to "Perfect"

**A/Nx3: **I'm aware Halley's Comet isn't supposed to appear again until 2061, but just go with it here.

* * *

**_My eyes are open wide.  
By the way, I made it through the day.  
I watch the world outside.  
By the way, I'm leaving out today._**

The smell of hospitals hit me as soon as I woke up. For a moment, I tried to remember why I'm here. _Oh yeah. _My eyes snapped open when I remembered Beth isn't in my stomach any longer. She isn't even mine anymore. Slowly, I slid my eyes shut again, recalling what the nurse had said before she knocked me out.

"We're putting you on anesthesia so you can rest awhile. You really need it after the blood loss and broken ribs." I could feel the ribs right now, and I'm also just kind of nauseous. Then I spotted Mike watching me from the chair next to the bed. I opened my mouth to ask the question, but he beat me to it.

"Hey, babe. Doc says you're doing great. And no, your parents haven't come. But I made sure they were notified."

Another bit of my heart broke off. I tried to mouth "Thanks, Mike," to him, but no sounds came out. He saw anyway. For a moment, I panicked as I started to feel like I was drowning. Then I saw some paper and an envelope sitting on the tray attached to my bed. Mike saw me looking at it and pushed the tray over immediately. Despite the ache inside, I smiled at how perfectly in sync our hearts and heads are. When he noticed the slightly blank look on my face, he fished a pen from his pocket.

Slowly, because, God, everything was starting to hurt, I reached over and pulled him closer to kiss him softly. Mike smiled and I felt just a little bit happier.

Momentarily, I pondered what to write. Then, maddeningly slow, I managed to scrawl:

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_My eyes are open wide- I see what you've done to me now. I could have forgiven you before, but now I see I don't want to._

_By the way, I made it through the day. Not that you care or anything, but I thought maybe you should know._

Mike grabbed my wrist gently and then shook his head.

"Later," he whispered sternly. I sighed, irritated in knowing I can't write right now.

* * *

A few days later, in fact the day I'm set to be released, Mike woke me up at two in the morning. He has been staying with me the whole time, only leaving for showers and fresh clothes. Carefully, he guided me to the window. I looked up at him questioningly. I haven't spoken a word since she was born.

"Just wait and see," he told me. I turned back to the window. A moment later, a brilliant blaze of light shot through the sky like a blast of fire. Delighted at the beauty, I sucked in a breath of astonishment and admiration.

Mike whispered in my ear, "Halley's Comet. I thought you'd like to see it."

I really wanted to speak right then, but I still couldn't. So I just hugged his tall figure tightly for a long time. Then I turned and got back in bed, and reached for the paper that still sat on the tray. He came over and said, "I'd write for you if you would talk." I shook my head.

"Come on, Q."

Again, I shook my head.

"Please."

"No," I finally spat at him. He jumped. Even I was surprised to hear my voice. That wasn't supposed to happen. Mike looked at me carefully for a moment, and then just nodded.

"Fine. Don't blame me if your hand falls off." I smiled victoriously. After returning my attention to the paper, I wrote:

* * *

_I watch the world outside sometimes while I'm stuck in here. It's soothing to know that the people passing by don't all have the problems I do. It makes me feel like I still have a shot at life. By the way, I'm leaving the hospital later today. Again, I know you don't care. But just so you have some warning if you run into me at the store or something._

_

* * *

_

**_I just saw Haley's Comet shooting.  
Said, "Why are you always running in place?"  
Even the man in the moon disappeared.  
Somewhere in the stratosphere_**

There I paused, wondering how to phrase what I wanted to say next. It was going to sound crazy. _My parents hate me anyway. So who cares? _I thought.

* * *

_I just saw Halley's Comet shooting through the sky. It was absolutely beautiful, I have to tell you. Something about it, something about the brilliance of the sight, made me ask myself, "Why are you always running in place?" For the last nine months, all I've been doing is hating myself and wondering if you'll ever forgive me. But now I see it's time to move on. There is no point in hating myself any longer, even if you would beg to differ, and you won't forgive me. So I am moving on. Also, I'd like to say that the man in the moon just disappeared. You remember how Dad would always say there was a man on the moon just for us? And he'd make up stories about him? Well, that man, that symbol of my childhood, just died for me. And because of this, somewhere in the stratosphere, my world is changing epically. And I'm happy._

_

* * *

_

**_Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can  
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand.  
I'm not angry; I'm just saying  
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance._**

"Quinn. Please. Let me write." Mike looked at me pleadingly. I sighed and handed the paper to him. Although I would never admit it, my hand ached just from that little bit of writing.

"Tell my mother; tell my father I did the best I could. To be perfect, to be their angel daughter; also, to make them realize that this is _my _life. I think I succeeded on the last one. I hope they understand that while I don't hate them (even if I should), and I'm not angry with them (I think), I don't regret what I did anymore. Although my life has been seriously fucked up, it has forced me to say goodbye to them. And sometimes goodbye is a second chance."

His brow furrowed as he jotted everything down. "Is this good?" he asked.

* * *

_I did the best I could to be perfect, to be your angel daughter. The whole time I also tried to make you realize that this is my life. I think I succeeded on the latter count. I hope you understand that while I don't hate you, and I'm not really angry with you anymore, I don't regret what I did any longer. Although my life has been seriously messed up, it has forced me to say goodbye to you. And sometimes goodbye is a second chance._

_

* * *

_

"Nice edits. It definitely wouldn't gone over well if you used all my original words," I said. Not that it's going to go over well anyways, but still.

Mike smiled his beautiful smile. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Just give me a sec."

**_Please don't cry one tear for me.  
I'm not afraid of what I have to say.  
This is my one and only voice.  
So listen close, it's only for today._**

"Tell them not to cry for me. I don't think they will, but if they do, it's pointless. I don't care. I'm not afraid of what I have to say. There's no reason I should be afraid to tell it how it is. This is my one and only voice, after all. And I'm going to fucking use it while I can. But listen close. It may only be for today that I can use it."

A moment later, he handed me the paper again.

* * *

_Please don't cry one tear for me. You probably won't, but if you do, it's pointless. I don't care. I'm not afraid of what I have to say. There's no reason I should be afraid to tell it how it is. This is my one and only voice, after all. And I'll be using it while I can. But listen close. It may only be for today that I can use it._

_

* * *

_

"Great. Give me a bit more time. There's more I need to say," I informed Mike, and he grimaced. I wondered he offered to write if it made him irritated. But hey, at least my hand isn't aching now.

**_Tell my mother; tell my father I've done the best I can.  
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand.  
I'm not angry; I'm just saying  
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance._**

I bit my lip. "Tell them again I did the best I could. But it is my life after all and maybe one day they'll understand that it was partially their pressure to be perfect that led to this. I don't blame them. I'm just saying that sometimes goodbye is a second chance."

"Jesus, Q. Trying to write a book?" he moaned.

"Maybe. And don't take the Lord's name in vain. Now shut up and write. You wanted to," I growled at him.

* * *

_Again, I'd like to say I did the best I could. But it is my life after all. Maybe one day you'll understand it was partially your pressure to be perfect that led to this. I don't blame you, though. All I'm really trying to say is that sometimes goodbye is a second chance._

* * *

**_Here is my chance.  
This is my chance._**

"Add that that this chance is sitting right here in front of me. And while it's kind of sad that it must be a goodbye, I'm taking it," I instructed him. He eyeballed me for a moment, and then resumed his work.

"Here," Mike said, handing me the paper yet again.

* * *

This chance is sitting right here in front of me. And while it's kind of sad that it must be in the form of a goodbye, I'm taking it.

* * *

**_Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.  
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.  
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance._**

"Can you add one more thing?"

"What?"

"Just say 'I know you're tired of reading this by now, but sometimes goodbye really is a second chance," I murmured. "Then it will be perfect."

I smiled when he gave it back one more time.

* * *

_I know you are tired of reading this by now, but sometimes goodbye really is a second chance._

* * *

With all the flourish I could muster, I added a bit.

* * *

_You don't have to respond to this. I wouldn't mind it if you would though. But don't feel obligated. I still love you, despite everything._

_Your Daughter (whether you'll admit it or not), with love (I am serious),_

**_Quinn Annabelle Fabray_**

**_

* * *

_**

For no good reason, I smiled. This felt like some sort of closure, even if they haven't read it yet. After sealing the envelope exultantly, I reached over and grabbed Mike and kissed him full on the mouth.

My second chance was taking me places. And Mike was coming with me.

* * *

**Okay, so that might be a little confusing. But I hope you liked it anyway. And if at all possible, pleasepleaseplease review. I can't tell how happy it would make me.**


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